


Memoria

by TrekFaerie



Category: Repo! The Genetic Opera (2008)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Flashbacks, Half-Sibling Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-21
Updated: 2013-01-21
Packaged: 2017-11-26 09:25:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/649079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrekFaerie/pseuds/TrekFaerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time, Pavi took Luigi on vacation to Cancun for his birthday. It turned out about as well as you would expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memoria

“Fucking bitch Amber, making me do her stupid shit...”

Cleaning out the attic was not Luigi’s idea of a fun way to spend his weekend– But, as Amber was going to be busy with meetings all day and Pavi had perfected the art of making himself scarce whenever any actual work needed to be done, it seemed as if he had no other option.

 _“Why the fuck can’t you just make one of your fucking assistants do this shit?” he snapped at her, slamming his fists down on Pop’s–_ her _desk. Sure, Amber was the nominal CEO of the company, and probably thought she was hot shit, sitting behind that big desk like some cheap Bond villain, but he was still Luigi fuckin’ Largo, and that meant he didn’t take shit from_ no one _, and "no one" definitely included his stuck-up little whore of a half-sister who had seemingly forgotten who was the oldest in the family._

_“I don’t trust those idiots to remember to breathe. Do you really think I’m going to let them rummage through our family heirlooms?” She crossed her arms under her chest, making her noticeable cleavage even more noticeable– Yeah, she was playing dirty, and Luigi wasn’t entirely sure that he minded. “There could be some valuable shit up there! Aren’t you the least bit curious?”_

_“Fuck, I don’t care! If there was anything important up there, it wouldn’t be up there in the first place, idiot!” He turned on his heel, preparing to storm off angrily. “Like I said, get one of your fucking whore assistants to do this shit for you. I’ve got better shit to do.”_

_“What’s the matter, big brother?” she asked in a childlike, devilish voice that had driven her older brothers to do more than their fair share of stupid shit in the past. “Don’t you think you can handle a few dusty old boxes?”_

Luigi was a sucker for a challenge. “I’m a fucking sucker in general,” he muttered bitterly as he lifted one of the large boxes off the top shelf. “God, what the fuck is in here? Pavi’s fatass mom?”

Suddenly, the box slipped from his hands, and both box and Luigi went tumbling down the stepladder to the dusty attic floor.

“Fuck!” he cursed, rubbing his sore arm, which had absorbed most of the impact. “There better be something real fucking good in here...”

Photo albums. Not even the cool holographic ones where it made everything look like something out of Star Wars. Just normal, average photo albums filled with normal, average photographs. Luckily, the albums were clearly labeled, so he was able to sort through them quickly: Carmela, Ages 3-7... burn pile; Luigi’s Senior Prom, oh, his first mug shot’s probably in there, save pile; Paviche’s High School Graduation... save pile, if only to prove that it had actually happened, by some act of God; Marni/Mag, save pile...

One of them, near the bottom and yellowed with age, simply read: Cancun.

He stared at it blankly, an indescribable look on his face. “... Wow,” he said. Looking around quickly, as if to check if anyone else was there, he cracked open the album to take a peek.

An hour later, he was still looking through it.

 

“Luigi, Luigi!”

Pavi had been seventeen then; before the surgical accident that had ruined his face, but definitely after his adoption of that stupid, stupid accent. Luigi, as a reasonable, business-minded man of twenty-one, had been reading the business section of the local newspaper when Pavi so rudely slid into the kitchen.

“What the fuck do you want, moron?” he said in an almost bored tone, not even looking up from the paper.

The middle of the paper crumpled downwards, and there was Pavi, grinning like an idiot, dressed in the pair of boxers he used as pajamas, his hair still mussed from sleep. “Do you-a know what today is?” he asked as if it were the most important question in the world.

His eyes darted to the little date at the corner of the paper. “It’s Saturday,” he said.

“That’s-a not what I mean and-a you know it!” he pouted.

A sudden realization hit him. “... Fuck, Pavi, just go away.”

“It’s-a your birthday!” He stepped back and threw out his arms, as if he were declaring it to the world, an expectant look on his face.

Luigi shrugged. “So?”

“So! So, he-a says! Don’t you-a want your present?”

“Does this present involve you shutting the fuck up?”

“... No, not-a really.”

“Then I don’t fucking need it.” He straightened out the newspaper and went back to reading. “Now, make yourself useful and go get me some fucking coffee– and God help you if it’s decaf. God fucking help you.”

Pavi seemed undaunted by his brother’s obvious apathy and continued on. “It took hours for-a me to convince Papa to-a buy them, but...” He reached into his boxers and took out two rectangular pieces of paper. “I was-a successful!”

“... Oh my God, where the fuck were you keeping those?”

He held them forward, a catlike smile on his face. “Two tickets to-a Cancun. A three day stay in the-a most exclusive resort.” Suddenly, he leapt forward, pulling Luigi into a bone-crushing hug. “ _Buon compleanno, fratello_!”

“Get the fuck off me, you little freak!” After pulling Pavi off of him, he snatched the tickets from him and examined them himself... Even though they were a gift from Pavi, of all people, it didn’t actually seem like a bad idea. Pops was always telling him that he needed to relax more. “Fine, I’ll fucking go. When’re we leaving?”

“Right-a now,” he said. “The-a limo is-a waiting outside.”

“... Shouldn’t I pack or something? Shouldn’t you put on a goddamn shirt?!”

“I-a packed for you, brother!” he said cheerfully.

“... No, fuck that, I’m gonna go pack. I don’t fucking trust you. You probably packed some freaky shit.”

Pavi crossed his arms and glared at his brother as Luigi ran off to his room to pack for himself. “ _Dio mio_ , you try to do something-a nice for a person...”

 

The plane ride to Cancun was uneventful, as was the quick ride over to the resort. While most of the world had been ravaged and destroyed during the years of the epidemic, the first thing Rotti Largo had done to help “humanity” was to restore some of his favorite vacation spots to their former glory. The sands of Cancun weren’t littered with the sun-dried bones of the dead, and the oceans didn’t stink of oil and waste. It was a standing monument to how the world once was, free to anyone who was able to afford it– and the Largos were definitely in that category.

However, being the most powerful and influential family in the world didn’t make you any less of a target in the eyes of Murphy’s Law.

“What do you fucking mean the room has only one fucking bed?!”

Pavi, sighing theatrically, held his brother’s arms in order to stop him from pole vaulting over the front desk and ripping the clerk’s spine out through her mouth. “Brother, _per favore_ , calm down-a...”

“Don’t tell me to fucking calm down, you fucking piece of shit! This is probably your fucking doing, anyway!” He turned his ire back towards the poor clerk, who looked about ready to cry. “You better fucking get me another room, you stupid bitch, or I swear to fucking God–”

“Brother, you’re attracting a crowd...” Pavi muttered.

“I-I’m s-s-sorry, M-Mister L-Largo, b-but w-we’re b-book...” The woman actually started crying, dropping to her knees and praying loudly to about seven of the saints in Spanish. This didn’t stop Luigi from calling her every curse word he could think of, nor did it stop Pavi from wishing he could sink into the floor.

A lengthy chat with the manager, seven cups of chamomile tea (“What, you don’t fucking serve coffee here? Fucking backwater, third world shithole!” Which, of course, brought the poor waiter to tears.), and one phone call from Rotti Largo later, Luigi had finally calmed down enough to accept the one-bed room. It didn’t mean he was happy, though.

“This is turning out to be some fucking vacation,” he grumbled as he practically punched the elevator button.

Pavi’s face had a look of (obviously false) innocence. “What’s the-a matter, brother?” he asked, sounding far too much like Carmela for Luigi’s tastes. “We always used to-a sleep together as-a children.”

Somehow, Luigi managed to keep mum until they were alone in the elevator together. “That was before you tried to _fuck me_ , you sick bastard,” he snapped.

“I wouldn’t call what I-a did _trying_...”

“Well, if you try anything– and I fucking mean _anything_ – I will throw you off the balcony. _Capisce?_ ”

He gave him a weak thumbs up. “Capisco.”

“Good.”

The room itself wasn’t bad. It was spacious, with a little kitchenette and a couch that Luigi planned on sleeping on once he saw it. The balcony had a gorgeous view of the ocean and, though Luigi would never admit it, it was really... nice. As he leaned over the balcony, he actually smiled. For a second, he was actually glad he was there.

“Luigi, I forgot to-a pack a toothbrush. Can I use-a yours?”

Only for a second, though.

 

Luigi hated it when Pavi would sigh and roll his eyes as if _he_ were being the unreasonable one. “Brother, you-a can’t wear a suit to the-a beach,” he said, as if he were explaining something to a small child.

“Like hell I can’t! I’ll wear whatever the fuck I wanna wear. It’s my fucking birthday.”

He reached into Luigi’s suitcase and pulled out a little yellow number that he had snuck in somehow. “But, I packed this-a swim suit just for-a you! Look, we-a match!”

“Well, I’m sorry if I don’t feel like walking up and down the beach with my cock hanging out.” Desperate to get his brother to just shut the fuck up, he removed his tie and unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt. “There. Casual. Happy now?”

Pavi was practically pouting. “Don’t you-a want the belle to-a see you in your-a nice swim suit?”

“That swim suit is not only ugly as fuck, it probably breaks a few public decency laws.”

“It’s the-a latest style from-a Milan!”

“Hmph, I seem to have missed the memo where Milan declared itself a fucking nudist colony.”

“ _Luigi_ ,” he whined.

Moments passed, and Luigi sighed. “I’ll wear one of my own swim trunks, ok?”

“That’s-a fine.”

“I’ll keep the shirt on.”

“That’s-a fine, too. You’ll-a probably just-a rip it off, anyways.”

“Also... Pavi?”

“ _Si_?”

“Don’t just go running off with the first whore you meet and leave me all alone, ok?”

He smiled. “I-a promise!”

 

True to his word, Pavi waited until he had at least five whores before running off. He also didn’t leave Luigi all alone, which was nice; of course, he left him with the two whores he had deemed not beautiful enough to join his little orgy, which was most definitely not nice.

“So,” said one of the whores, a busty Swedish blonde with eyes that pointed in opposite directions, “you’re Luigi Largo, right?”

“Yeah,” he said gruffly, glaring at the ocean so hard the tide actually receded a bit.

The other whore, a rather plain Australia brunette, said meekly, “How’s that working out for you?”

Luigi pondered the question for a moment, and answered, “Excuse me, I think I have something to do anywhere but right here.”

Muttering swears both under his breath and over it, Luigi cursed at himself for being so fucking stupid. Of course Pavi was just using his birthday as an excuse for hooking up with lots of anonymous women. He used _everything_ as an excuse for that. He couldn’t count the number of times Pavi had outright abandoned him to go have sex: at parties, at charity benefits, even that one time in a fucking McDonalds parking lot! Sex was the only thing on Pavi’s mind, and everything he did, no matter how kind or generous it seemed to the untrained eye, was done in order to have more sex. Luigi knew that.

But, that didn’t mean that he wasn’t pissed off... or a little bit hurt. A little. Maybe.

By the time he got back to the room, the fun part of Pavi’s little escapade had obviously ended, and any of the bitches that had stuck around for the absolutely _scintillating_ conversation Luigi was sure had to be taking place ran for their lives when Luigi practically kicked the door down. Pavi, dressed in a bathrobe and smoking a cigarette, walked in from the balcony. “Ah, brother, you’re-a back! Did you have-a fun at the-a beach?”

Not even bothering to say anything in greeting, Luigi snatched the lit cigarette from his hands, roughly grabbed onto Pavi’s hair, and put the cigarette out on the boy’s arm. “You little fucking bitch.” His tone was scarily even, almost deadly calm. “Don’t you ever fucking do that again.”

Pavi managed to break away from his grip, losing a few strands of hair in the process. “You-a bastard!” he hissed, gingerly touching the burn. “That’s-a going to-a scar!”

“Fucking answer me, Paviche!” he snapped, his rage apparent now.

“... What was-a the question?”

“There is no fucking question! Just say you won’t fucking do that again!”

“I won’t, I won’t!” Christ, he looked like he was about to cry. Luigi couldn’t stand crying, especially when it came from his younger siblings. Sure, he hated them both with the fiery intensity of a thousand suns, but he was still their older brother! He was supposed to stop people from making them cry, not make them cry himself!

“Fuck...” He slumped down on the couch, the cigarette still in his hand. Well, waste not, want not. He rummaged through the pockets of his swim shorts, looking for his lighter. “Where the fuck did you get this, anyway?”

“One of the-a girls gave it to-a me,” Pavi said with a sniff. He sat down at the other end of the couch, a hand still pressed against the burn mark.

“Well...” After finding the lighter, he relit the cigarette. “You shouldn’t smoke,” he said as he took a drag of it. “It’s bad for you.” He heard Pavi’s laughter and grimaced. “What’s so fucking funny?”

“You-a smoke all the-a time!”

“I also have to get my lungs replaced every two years. Don’t fucking smoke, Pavi.”

He still laughed. “Okay, I-a won’t.” Silence descended upon the room, and he shifted uncomfortably. “... The-a burn really hurts, brother.”

“So? What the fuck do you want me to do about it?”

“... Help?”

Once he finished his cigarette, Luigi went into the bathroom, found a wet hand towel, and went back to the living room. “Here,” he said, throwing it at Pavi, “put that over the burn. Now you can’t say I never did you any favors.”

“... Thank you.” He placed the towel over the burn and sighed with relief. “Do you-a want to-a go out to-a dinner on your-a birthday?”

“Are you going to abandon me again?”

“Not at-a dinner!” Pavi said, scandalized.

“... Fine, we can go.”

“What do you-a feel like-a having?”

“I don’t give a shit. You can choose... Just don’t fucking pick Italian.”

 

True to his word, Pavi didn’t abandon Luigi during dinner. They ended up going to a quiet, secluded seafood restaurant near the water, where they ate the most expensive things on the menu and then complained about them loudly, and drank the most expensive wines until they could barely stand. A small voice in the back of his mind warned him that he was being presumptuous, but Luigi was sure that it was the best night with his brother that he had ever had.

Of course, he was being very, very presumptuous.

“Let’s-a go to a bar!” Pavi was practically giggling, holding onto Luigi’s arm like he was a schoolgirl. “No-a, let’s-a go to a club! I-a wanna go dancing!”

“We can’t go to a club, you dumb shit,” Luigi said, wishing that the sidewalk would stop swaying from side to side. Or was that his brother’s hips? He couldn’t think straight anymore. “You’re fucking seventeen.”

“We’ll-a just yell at-a them like we-a did at the-a waiter who-a wouldn’t give-a me wine-a!” His fake accent always got heavier when he was drunk, like he was putting all of his conscious thought into making sure he didn’t slip up and start stuttering like he used to. “We’re the-a fucking Largo brothers-a, and-a we can-a do anything-a!” The way he said it made Luigi feel like it was actually true, and he indulged his brother with a real smile and a promise to hit every club in Mexico.

It was at their third club, a nasty little hole-in-the-wall filled with more health and safety code violations than Luigi could count, that he officially lost Pavi. Stumbling through the crowd, he called out his brother’s name and tried to concentrate as his thoughts zipped through his mind like race cars: _Oh, God, he’s lost. He’s been kidnapped. He’s going to get raped. He’s going to be killed. Pops is going to get a ransom note on Monday. Pops is going to kill me. He’s dead, he’s already dead. He’s dead, he’s dead, he’s–_

He spied Pavi in the upper levels, in the VIP section, sandwiched between two very beautiful–

Wait.

Was that a dude?

_He’s fucking dead!_

His rage and a thirst for vengeance immediately sobered Luigi up, and he began to make his way out of the bar, already planning his revenge in his head.

On the way back to the hotel, he bought the most diseased-looking hooker he could find, fucked her, and then sat in the hotel room.

Waiting.

 

Pavi arrived back at the hotel at around four in the morning, laughing like it was the middle of the afternoon and carting some Spanish twink in tow. Luigi could tell by the way he moved, the way he spoke, that he was high on something, and he could tell by the way he was pawing at the young man (who seemed equally as inebriated) that putting his revenge plan into motion was going to be very, very easy.

“Get the fuck out of here,” he said to the boy, who, quite smartly, listened to him and ran for his life. “Pavi, do you know what fucking time it is?”

“ _Buon giorno, fratello_ ,” Pavi sang, completely oblivious to Luigi’s anger. “It-a is-a morning, _si_? The Pavi does-a not know! I–”

Before Pavi could get another word in edgewise, Luigi had him slammed against the door, his wrists pinned over his head. “It’s four in the morning,” he whispered, quite calmly, into his ear.

“So it-a is the-a morning.” His eyes were dark with the alcohol and the drugs and something else, something that made Luigi’s mouth go dry and his pants feel way too tight. “I was-a right.”

“Don’t fucking get used to it.” He leaned forward, using his greater height to tower over Pavi. “That wasn’t a very nice fucking thing you did back there, Pavi. Leaving me all alone on my fucking birthday, even after you promised that you wouldn’t.”

“Oh-a, Luigi, don’t-a worry.” Somehow, the wiry boy managed to break free of Luigi’s grip and wrapped his arms around his neck. “I’ll-a make it-a up to-a you.” He stood up on the tips of his toes, leaning forward until they were almost touching...

A slight step forward, and their lips crashed together, teeth clacking as Pavi wrapped his legs around Luigi’s hips, trying to increase the contact. They slammed against the wall and fell, Pavi rushing to sit on top of him, their kiss never breaking even as they moved.

They parted momentarily for air, and Pavi looked dazed, confused, and very, very aroused. “ _Fratello_...” he whispered, eyes unfocusing slightly, as if he were about to pass out.

Well, they couldn’t have that happening, could they? He tugged on Pavi’s hair, making the boy yelp. “Get naked and get on the fucking bed,” he said in a hoarse, snappish voice. As he watched Pavi eagerly follow his directions, he undid the belt on his own pants, unbuttoning his shirt, but never quite taking either of them off. He didn’t really need to.

By the time he entered the bedroom, Pavi was already naked, writhing languidly on the bed and touching himself. “Brother,” he whined as Luigi knelt on the edge of the bed, hovering over him.

“Fuck, stop calling me that! Stop fucking making this more creepy than it already is.” As he ran a hand over Pavi’s pale chest, feeling the soft beginnings of chest hair, (that was one reason to insist he didn’t smoke; Luigi didn’t want any scars to ruin that) he began to think about his reasoning for doing it. Getting revenge on his brother for his insolence was definitely a major part of it, but, it most certainly wasn’t the only thing.

Pavi was hot, sexy, almost beautiful, having inherited the best genes from his mother and father, and as he spread Pavi’s legs apart, listening to those delicious moans and whines... He most certainly didn’t love his little half-brother, but he did want to fuck his brains out. And that was almost as good as love.

He didn’t bother with preparation or lube, because he knew all too well that the road he was taking had already been slickened and stretched by those who had come (he almost laughed at that, and Pavi gave him a little glare and yelled at him to hurry it up already) before him. “How many guys have fucked you tonight, Paviche?” he whispered into his ear.

Pavi panted and groaned, trying to get Luigi to move, dammit, move, but it became obvious that he wasn’t going to budge without an answer. “I-I don’t-a k-know,” he mumbled, blushing furiously when he realized that he was stuttering. “Don’t r-remember...”

“C’mon, Pavi, take a guess.” He thrust in, once, earning a loud cry from the younger boy. “What do you think? Maybe ten, twenty?”

“N-No...”

“More than that? God, Pavi, you’re such a little fucking slut.”

“Luigi, p-please...”

“Luigi, please, what?” Luigi was getting a kick out of teasing Pavi, even more than he usually did. Finally, the vacation was starting to get fun!

“P-Please, brother... fuck m-me...”

Pavi looked up at him with such a pleading, defeated look that it was all Luigi could do not to smirk. He still grinned, though. “Well, since you asked so nicely.”

Pavi came first, of course, being the younger of the two, and Luigi lasted a lot less longer than he had originally hoped. Sated and almost maliciously gleeful, he collapsed on the bed next to the already dozing Pavi and quickly fell into a deep sleep.

 

Luigi woke up first the following day, at around noon. He poured himself a cup of coffee, lit himself another cigarette, and went to go sit out on the balcony and watch the ocean.

He smirked. Perfect.

 

“Luigi? Luigi?... Brother, are-a you asleep?”

His eyes opened, and the first thing he saw was Pavi, now thirty-five, kneeling on the floor in front of him, a confused look on his fake face. He groaned, rubbing his eyes. “Jesus Christ, how long was I out?”

“It’s-a almost dinner, so-a probably a long-a time.” He curiously peered at the open album in Luigi’s lap. “What are you-a looking at?”

“Why the fuck are you even up here? Shouldn’t you be out fucking GENterns or killing bitches or whatever it is you fucking do these days?” he said, closing the album with a snap.

“Amber sent me to-a check on-a you, to-a make sure you were-a working...” He looked around at the attic, still covered in useless junk and decades of dust. “I can-a see that went-a well.”

“Yeah, well, if she wanted shit to actually get done, she should’ve fucking got her assistants to do this shit.” He looked down at the photo album, running a hand over it. “This... It’s just pictures from that trip to Cancun we took as kids."

For a moment, Pavi looked horrified. “I-a... didn’t-a know there was-a... photographic evidence of that-a trip,” he said nervously.

“What the fuck does that... Oh! No, fuck, Pavi, no. There’s no pictures of... that. Just... you and me, on the beach together. Look.” He opened the album and took out a random picture: It was of the both of them, on the beach, posing next to a rather provocative sand sculpture. “There. Take that one, burn the rest. I’m gonna go tell Amber to get some fucking gophers up here– Fuck, I probably have lung cancer again from this fucking dust!”

Pavi was silent, for once, as Luigi left the attic, just staring at the photograph, almost reverently. After making sure that Luigi was really gone, he picked the album up and held it close to his chest. “That-a... trip...”

 

_Nine year old Carmela Largo listened to her brother’s story with wide eyes, hugging her oversized teddy bear to her chest when he got to the really good parts. “Wow, you an’ Luigi really did all that?” she asked in amazement._

_He nodded. “Yep. A-All of it.” He felt more comfortable around Carmela, young and innocent and (currently) non-judgemental as she was, so he didn't bother putting on the accent._

_“Wow...” She frowned. “But, it was really, really mean of him to give you that thingy. What was it? Hep... hep...”_

_“Hepatitis,” Pavi corrected._

_“Yeah, that. Sounds bad.”_

_“Eh, not r-really. All I n-needed to do was get some sh-shots– I’m b-better now.”_

_“Shots! I hate shots...” She pouted even more when he started laughing at her. “But, why didn’t Luigi have to get shots? That sounds unfair!”_

_“Hepatitis is s-sort of like the ch-chicken pox. Once you g-get it, you c-can’t get it again.”_

_“... Really?”_

_“Listen to your b-big brother.”_

_“Okay!” She fiddled with the nose of her teddy. It was too big; it would have to get a new one. “Well, it was still fun, right? Your vacation, I mean. Even with all the bad stuff.”_

_Pavi thought about it for a moment. Then, he smiled fondly and ruffled her black curls. “It was the b-best vacation I’ve ever had.”_


End file.
